


Lot 37

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who is the new owner of Lot 37? Possible aftermaths to 'The Auction'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carlos

 

Cecil slides his headphones off and sighs, running a hand through his hair. He really is an idiot, and because of it, someone now – what? Owns him? Void only knows what that entails. He lifts his glasses to rub his eyes, feeling stupid and tired, the dull ache of stress buzzing beneath his skin. He hopes Carlos can calm him, can make him feel, at least somewhat, better about his failing today.

Strex have sent in a new supervisor – Valerie, is it? - and she waves at him as he leaves, emitting a series of blooping beeps. Cecil ignores her. He's not in the mood for forced pleasantries. Valerie can go leak motor oil in the middle of rush hour traffic, for all he cares. He just wants Carlos. He just wants to be held and reassured, and to know that this doesn't change anything. He may, quite literally, now belong to someone else, but that does not stop him being Carlos'.

The drive to the lab seems to take longer than usual. That could be due to the fact the traffic literally seems to be moving in slow motion today, but Cecil likes to think it is a projection of his impatience. He takes the side door up to Carlos' apartment, using his own key that Carlos had presented him with. Cecil had been delighted at this show of trust, but now he is just glad he doesn't have to wait for Carlos to let him in. He has waited enough.

He enters the main door, stepping into the hall of Carlos' apartment. As the door clicks shut behind him the full weight of today hits Cecil, and he leans back against the wood, letting out a soft sigh. There is a moment where he is painfully certain he is going to start crying, but then he hears the soft pad of footsteps.

“Cecil? I thought it would be you, but you can never be sure. Are you alright?”

“Carlos.” Cecil doesn't even look up. He just pushes himself away from the door and stumbles forward, falling into the comforting solid warmth of Carlos' chest. He buries his face into the scientist's shoulder and inhales deeply, fingers clutching at the material of his shirt.

Carlos holds him and rubs his back soothingly for a long moment, before he slowly and gently pulls away.

“I have something to show you.”

“Wha-”

“Shh.” Carlos presses his finger to Cecil's lips. He moves behind him, pressing against Cecil's back. He lifts one hand to cover Cecil's eyes, lips brushing against his ear. “Come and see.”

With Carlos guiding him, Cecil walks into the living room. Carlos moves his hand away and Cecil blinks, looking around. At first there is nothing he recognises as out of place, but then he sees a framed certificate on the couch. Stepping closer, Cecil realises what it is.

“Certificate of ownership?”

“Mhmm.” Carlos smiles as he moves to Cecil's side. “Of one Cecil Gershwin Palmer.”

“Carlos.”

“I- Well, I saw your name in the auction catalogue, so-”

“So you bought me.”

“I didn't know if you'd be able to get away from the station.” Carlos lifts the frame, smiling down at it before his eyes flick up to meet Cecil. “You're the only person that should have ownership of yourself.”

“Oh, Carlos. For me?”

“For you.”

Carlos just has time to move the certificate safely out of the way before Cecil has propelled himself onto him, arms curling around Carlos' neck and mouth pressing firm and demanding against his own. Carlos wraps his own arm around Cecil's waist with easy familiarity, obediently parting his lips and allowing Cecil to kiss him breathless.

“Although,” he murmurs, and his voice is low and husky with desire. “I'm not opposed to owning you for one night.”

“Yours.” Cecil says with a nod. He is flushed and his eyes are dark.

“Mine.”

“Always yours.”

“Oh, you will be.”

Carlos pulls Cecil close again and the horribleness of his day is forgotten.


	2. Earl Harlan

Cecil is exhausted. His body is tired and aching, and he is still in disbelief at his own stupidity, at how he failed himself at such a crucial moment. He is so lost inside his own head that he does not see the man when he first stumbles out from the studio.

“Hello, Cecil.”

Cecil freezes, because he knows that voice. He knows that voice and he has not heard it in months, and until now he was sure the owner of it was dead, or worse. Slowly, he turns, and there is Earl Harlan, standing to the side of the studio entrance. He looks smaller than Cecil remembers. He looks small and thin, with tired eyes and dusty skin. His uniform is faded and tattered, and there appear to be flecks of blood dried in to his ruffled hair.

“Earl?” Cecil is caught between fear and confusion. This is Earl's body, but that does not necessarily mean it is Earl, and if it is, then how and why is he here now?

“It's been a while.” Earl smiles at him, and it reminds him of late Summer evenings and rope burns, reminds him of camping trips and the smell of grass, reminds him of the little ginger boy missing two of his front teeth who taught Cecil about lizards and cacti and how to wire his phone into a soundboard.

“It has,” Cecil says, slow and cautious. His eyes flick across the sandy parking lot, locate his car. He might be able to outrun Earl. If it comes to that.

Earl's smile widens, as if he knows what Cecil is thinking. He straightens up, pushing away from where he was leaning against the wall. Giving up on the small talk, he gets right down to why he came here.

“I was at the auction today.”

“Oh?” Cecil does not particularly care for this knowledge. The auction is the last thing he wants to think about right now. The dusty, bloodied figure of Earl Harlan is pretty low on the list of things he wants to think about as well.

“Lot 37 was interesting.”

Cecil feels his blood chill. He hopes this is only a feeling and that his blood is not turning to ice again, because that was quite painful. He says nothing, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, waiting for Earl to continue. Earl is silent for a moment before holding something out, a sheet of paper, and when Cecil looks closely, he can see his name on it.

“You!” His fear has shifted to anger, one hand curled into a fist and shaking before him. Earl watches without emotion.

“Yes.”

“So, what, you thought this would make me yours? That you could buy me?”

That prompts a reaction. Something in Earl's eyes softens, and his face crumbles in on itself. Cecil's whole body is shaking now, lightly vibrating with rage. He feels no guilt at Earl's broken expression.

“Cecil-” Earl starts as if he has more to say, but then he cuts off, throat closing around his words. He shakes his head twice. “I didn't think I could just buy you, and I wouldn't want to. I did this for you, Cecil.”

He takes Cecil's wrist, ignoring his attempt to pull away, and presses the paper into his palm, closing Cecil's fingers around it. Earl meets Cecil's eyes as he releases his wrist, and he looks as if he might cry.

“Thank you,” Cecil says, after a long moment of silence. The words are still cautious, guarded. His fingers are firm around the piece of paper.

Earl seems at a loss for words. His lips part, but then he thinks the better of it and closes them again. He gives Cecil an awkward little nod, and then turns without a word and walks off. Cecil watches him until the outline of his form suddenly disappears, as if he has turned to sand and blown off in the warm breeze.


	3. dark!Earl Harlan

 

Cecil sits with his head in his hands. His headphones lay abandoned on the soundboard. He'd only just managed to keep himself from sounding upset on air, from letting the emotion bleed through his voice, but he can feel it now. Can feel the tight ache in his chest and the burning sliding down the length of his throat. He sits back in his chair and presses his fingertips into his eyes. He will not cry.

He hears the door behind him, but ignores it. Probably Valerie popping in her head to check on him. He takes a deep inhale, preparing to tell her that he'll be gone in a moment, when there is a gust of hot breath against his ear.

“Hellooo, Cecil.”

Cecil jerks away so quickly that he nearly tips sideways out of his chair. He steadies himself with a hand on the desk and turns to stare into the face of Earl Harlan. Except, Cecil knows Earl, has known him for a long time, has seen his face mature from the childish roundness of youth, has seen his hair lighten and more dark freckles dot up across his nose. Those things are still there, but this is not the Earl Cecil remembers.

His eyes are the real difference, are the thing that send a cold rush of fear down to the pit of Cecil's stomach. He knows those eyes. He has seen those eyes before, but not on Earl. He stares into the inky black depths of them, the eyes of that despicable creature who had shared a face with him, and wonders where Earl Harlan has been and what has happened to him, and, most importantly, why he is here now.

“Earl Harlan.”

“Oh, you remember me?”

Earl grins. His smile is too wide. It doesn't look right, doesn't look genuine, and it makes Cecil uncomfortable. His voice is high and delighted, but that's not right either. It's too much, and it all clashes so horribly with those black, empty eyes.

“I'm glad, Cecil. Have you been thinking about me, darling? I've been thinking about you. I've missed you terribly. I know I left things a little messy with us, but it's okay now. I'm better now. They've fixed me all up.”

Earl is slowly moving closer to Cecil and there is nowhere for him to go. His desk is digging a hard line across his back. He stares up at Earl warily, confused and unsettled by his words.

“They? Who are-”

“Hush. It doesn't matter. What matters is I'm back, and I'm perfect now. They've made me perfect.”

Earl giggles, reaching out to stroke Cecil's cheek. His touch sparks static and Cecil flinches away from the shock.

“Don't touch me.”

He stands, but there's nowhere for him to go. Earl is in his way. His legs are awkwardly spread on either side of his chair, and he feels cornered.

“Oh, but I can do whatever I want to you, my sweet.”

“I'm not your anything!” Cecil is suddenly hit with a hot rush of indignation. How dare Earl Harlan, or what ever creature that is now inhabiting his body, show up here and act as if they can do as they please with him?

“That's where you're wrong, my dear Cecil. You see, I bought something very interesting at the auction today,” Earl says. He has been smiling all along, but it shifts now, becomes something more sinister.

Cecil feels as if he has been dunked suddenly and very unpleasantly into a tank of ice cold water.

“You,” he starts, but words fail him. He can't believe this creature owns him now.

Earl hums, pleased, and gives a little nod.

“Yes. Me.”

He places his fingers on Cecil's chest, above his heart, and pushes him back down into his seat with surprising strength. He follows Cecil down, perching on his lap with a leg on either side of his thighs. Cecil is too afraid to move.

“You are mine now, Cecil Palmer, and we have so much lost time to make up for.”


End file.
